In the Spoon it Melts to Liquid
by Room304
Summary: After Greg runs away from an abusive household, the 16 year old finally finds a job a roadie for a rock band. R for language and drug content. Second in the Stay Home series
1. save me from the fire

AN: A BIG THANKS TO ALL OF YOU WHO REVIEW AND EVEN ALL OF YOU WHO READ AND DON'T REVIEW. EVEN IF YOU HATE IT, I JUST APPRECIATE THE FACT THAT YOU ARE TAKING THE TIME TO READ IT. THIS IS THE SECOND CHAPTER OF STAY HOME, ALTHOUGH YOU DON'T HAVE TO READ IT BEFORE YOU READ THIS. ALL YOU REALLY NEED TO KNOW BEFORE READING THIS IS:  
  
- Greg has run away from home because his father was abusive and his mother couldn't stop his dad from hitting him.  
  
- The night he ran away from New York, he finally beat the shit out of his dad and now he can't ever return.  
  
- He is hitchhiking to San Francisco where his grandfather lives in hopes to stay with him  
  
ALTHOUGH, IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO TAKE THE TIME TO READ STAY HOME, I WOULDN'T OBJECT.  
  
Looking, searching for anything...rope...shoelace...belt...Yes! I looked down and pulled off the belt Lydia had given me for Christmas. Wrapping the belt as tight as I could around my arm, I watched my veins popping out, blue snakes writhing under pale skin. I had been doing so well for so long, but I just couldn't fucking take the pressure. It ate away at me daily; I'd had help, I'd been clean, but the need for it never goes away. It had taken me over, it filled my head every fucking moment of every fucking day. I hesitated as I looked down at my arm, knowing exactly what I needed to do and exactly what I was going to. A little more than a year ago, I was a straight fucking A student, who had graduated early enough to be accepted into Berkeley at the age of sixteen. As I assured myself that there was no air in the syringe, I couldn't help but wonder what the hell happened to my life.  
  
~ less than a year before~  
  
What does a sixteen year old who is trying to make his way across the country do if he has no money, no car, and nothing else but a soon to be criminal record? He walks. Which is exactly what I did that first night. I must have walked twenty fucking miles in downtown Matthattan traffic. Ok, so maybe I'm exaggerating a little, it was only like nineteen. Alright, you know what? The exact distance doesn't concern me because it was a fucking long way, and that's all that matters. I walked until I found a place to sleep. At first I was panicking because I had no clue where the hell I would stay that night, but I assumed in some shit-covered alley behind some pedophile's house. It wasn't until I made my way past the bus station at around three that it hit me- it was warm and safe and the benches weren't as uncomfortable as you might have thought. I was kicked out at seven the next morning, which was my signal to move on.  
  
Eventually, I made my way to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. God, talk about a milestone. Even though it was actually pretty close to Matthattan, it took me weeks to get there; apparently hitchhikers are pretty much treated with disdain by everyone who passes one. It's the people that do give you a ride that you have to worry about. Most of them, though, are just lonely, but that doesn't mean they're not weird as fucking hell. I had decided that eating was important enough that it was necessary to do whatever was possible for food. But after awhile, your goddam conscience decides to catch up with you, and you feel guilty stealing from these harmless people. I decided to stay in Harrisburg and get a job, just long enough to raise a sufficient amount of money so I could continue on my way towards San Francisco.  
  
I'll never forget that day. It was fucking cold as shit, as most December days in New England are. Snow from the night before's blizzard littered the ground and city workers were trying their hardest to clear the snow off of the streets before the rest of the world woke up. And there I walked, enlace in an old cord jacket that some old woman gave me, shielding my eyes from the rising six A.M. sun. My breath was visible in the freezing temperature and I was watching it, pretending I was smoking, when I tripped over my shoelace and literally rammed this innocent passerby. Well, Innocent wasn't exactly the word to describe her.  
  
"Watch where you're going, asshole!" she screamed at me from down on the sidewalk. From the first second my eyes landed on her, I knew she was probably the most eccentric person I had ever met. I felt an immediate respect toward this girl and stuck my hand out to her, trying to help her up. She brushed a strand of the most vibrant lime green hair out of her eyes, grasped my hand, and pulled herself up. She smiled apologetically.  
  
"Sorry, I can be a real bitch when I haven't had my coffee." The silver stud in her tongue glinted as she talked. "I'm Lydia." I grinned at her in a complete loss for words. She was the type of girl that I had always been afraid to talk to, because society frowned upon people who looked like her.  
  
"So would you like to tell me your name or if you want I'll continue to call you clumsy asshole."  
  
"I'm Greg, but clumsy asshole has a certain ring to it, don't you think?" Whoa, that was Greg Sanders cursing aloud for the first time in his life. I was turning into quite the rebel, don't you think?  
  
"You know what Greg? I'm no longer pissed at you and I feel kind of bad for yelling at you earlier so I'm going to offer to buy you a cup of coffee, how does that sound?" Even though I wasn't much of a coffee drinker, I had to take her up on her offer. Coffee was warm and the caffeine would probably do me some good. Plus, there was just something about Lydia, you know? I just wanted to be around her.  
  
After I agreed, we walked about ten blocks, past four other coffee shops. Lydia walked with an air of confidence beside me, as if she liked leading me around, showing me her territory.  
  
Eventually, we arrived to a contemporary- looking building, with a sign hanging over the door that read, in bright green letters identical to Lydia's hair, COFFEE HOUSE. I couldn't help but think she picked this place because it looked, well, cheap. It was almost like she could sense what I was thinking, because she looked back at me as she opened the swinging glass door.  
  
"I know it's doesn't look like much, but it has the best damn coffee in town." She led me inside the building and sat me down at one of the antique tables as she went to the front of the room to talk to the owner. It was actually a pretty cool room, with black marble floors and three checkerboard walls, the fourth covered by a breathtaking mural of what I suspected was the street in front of the store, done entirely in black and white. The painting was perfectly detailed; I mean, I like to think of myself as a pretty good artist and even I was shocked by the painter's talent. I looked down at the name sketched in the corner of the mural: Lydia Bell. If the artist was my new-found friend, then I had certainly underestimated her.  
  
Seconds later, Lydia sauntered back over towards our table, with two steaming cups of coffee in hand. She placed one mug in front of me and slid into her seat.  
  
"You have to drink it black- no sugar, creamer, milk. This coffee is...unbelievable. It's not the best money can buy, but it's pretty fucking close,"  
  
Hesitantly, I tried her coffee. She talked about it like it was the greatest shit on earth. And it was.  
  
"It's called Blue Hawaiian. Everyone who's ever tried has loved it." We sat in silence, drinking this coffee like it was liquid gold. I liked not having to explain myself to this girl; I liked the way she didn't have to ask a question every fucking second to fill the silence.  
  
"You're not from here, are you? I mean, if you haven't heard of the fucking Coffee House, then you've never been to Harrisburg before." Maybe I spoke too soon.  
  
"New York." I tried to keep my answers as short as possible  
  
"Why the hell would you leave an exciting place like New York City to come to Harrisburg?"  
  
"Well, I'm actually looking for a job." Her bright green eyes sparkled as she spewed out her next question.  
"What kind of music do you listen to?"  
  
At first, I was taken aback by her randomness, but then answered. "Older rock, like Zeppelin, AC/DC, and Pink Floyd."  
  
Her grin got even wider as she continued. "Do you know what a roadie is, Greg?" Yes, I nodded. "How would you like to be one?" Before I could answer her, she chugged the rest of her coffee, threw some cash on the table, grabbed my hand, and pulled me from the shop. She dragged me down the street in a sprint.  
  
"What the fuck is going on?" I yelled as I tried using my feet for brakes, unsuccessfully. She panted out something like her brother was in a rock band that was going on tour.  
  
"Let me guess: they need roadies." She looked back at me with that maniacal grin.  
  
"This is my brother's apartment building." She gestured toward a run down, ancient building that looked as if one strong gust of wind would send in tumbling down into ruin. We ran into the building, up a flight of stairs, and to the door that led to her brother.  
  
"Kevin! I found one!" She yelled as she banged on his door. I now officially thought that she had lost her mind, but the idea that I might have a job kept me from running. A twenty-something guy with no hair, but a dark brown goatee and Lydia's same green eyes opened the door. He gave me a once over.  
  
"He doesn't look like he could handle it."  
  
"But come on Kev! He's nineteen, and a skinny, pale guy who hates his parents and loves Zeppelin. And after a month he'll be able to handle all of the equipment, don't you think? And I'll make sure he looks the part. What do you fucking have to lose?" Kevin looked at me once more, judgement evident in his eyes.  
  
"Zeppelin, huh? So what's your favorite song?"  
  
A fitting song title popped into my head.  
  
"Going to California."  
  
Kevin looked once more into the pleading eyes of his sister before finally giving in. With a sigh, responded, "Pack your bags because we leave in three days."  
  
Lydia walked me out of the building. At the bottom of the final flight of stairs, she stopped to say her goodbye.  
  
"So are you sure you have a place to stay?"  
  
"Yes," I answered quickly, a little too quickly. She raised an eyebrow, but dropped the subject.  
  
"I'll see you on Friday."  
  
"Yeah, I'll see you", I turned and began to walk away, but faced her again when I remembered a question I needed to ask her.  
  
"Hey, Lydia, did you paint that mural in the coffee shop?" She just smiled that psychotically electric grin and slowly walked back inside.  
  
It had to be at least ten degrees colder than the night before. As I walked to the nearest bus stop, I realized that it was a bitter cold, the kind of cold that chills you so deeply that you feel as if you'll never get warm again. The sun had fully set by now, it was that time right after dusk when the sky fades to that murky shade of blue right before turning black. The streetlights were on, their bleak beams creating circles of light on the sidewalk. It's weird, but I always enjoyed being in those small spheres of light; it was like a protective shield from whatever was out in the night. I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally made it to that bus station, because it was the kind of night that made you feel as if something bad was going to happen.  
  
I was thrown out of this station at seven in the morning, like clockwork, and I spent the day "finding" money that I knew I would need in order to buy a few new shirts. I couldn't show up on Friday wearing the exact same clothes as when I first met the Bells, that would raise suspicion. I needed this job; it was my ticket out of New England. I decided to buy my shit tomorrow and go to bed early that night, this time sleeping in a locked stall in the bathroom of one of those 24/7 diners. I even had enough extra cash to buy food - a cheeseburger has never tasted as good as the one I ate that night.  
  
At ten the next morning, I finally ventured out of the diner. It was great not to have someone throw me out for a change. I couldn't motivate myself to do anything at all so I crashed on a bench in the park and, before I knew it, I was asleep.  
  
"Had a rough couple of days?" A voice lulled me out of my sleep and caused me to crack open one eyelid, just to make sure it wasn't the cops. A pair of bright green eyes were looking down on me. Groaning, I threw my coat over my face, only to have Lydia pull it off. I sat up in defeat.  
"You dyed your hair" the mass of shoulder-length lime green had been replaced by a light blue.  
  
"Well aren't you fucking observant." She said nothing and just looked at me for a few seconds. "Greg, how old are you?"  
Lydia had mentioned to her brother two days ago that I was nineteen, so I was going to stick with that. She didn't believe me, she didn't say it, but I knew she didn't believe me.  
"You know I'm not going with you guys out on tour, right?" Lydia asked, hours later as we were walking home from a Taco Bell that we had decided to stop at for lunch. I had thought she was going; hell, she was the person who dragged me into this, what else was I supposed to think?  
" Anyway," she continued, ignoring my lack of a response. " Since I'm not going with you, I'm supposed to show you your way around the equipment today; you know, shit like setting up the amps and teaching you the set list so you will know exactly what guitars Kevin and Zack need and exactly when they'll need them. You'll need to make sure Price's drum set gets set up correctly and well, Tony's pretty easy; just give him his bass and he'll be happy. Oh, and although Unleaded will soon be releasing a hit single, until that happens we are a supporting band and we're very broke so you're the only roadie we can afford."  
  
"Don't take this the wrong way, but what do you do?"  
  
"I design cover art for the band's EP and I hire cheap shitheads to do all of the manual labor for the band." Before I knew it we were in front of the coffee house, where Lydia waitressed part-time. We said our goodbyes and she reminded me, yet again, to be at her brother's apartment by seven the next morning.  
  
Seven o'clock came, bright and early, and before I knew it, I was on a tour bus heading for Chicago. On the bus, Kevin introduced me to the rest of the band. Zack, the lead singer and backup guitar player, was the kind of guy every band wanted as its lead - good-looking, captivating, dark - and he had one hell of a voice. Price, a short guy with a nose ring and a purple mohawk, was the drummer. He was one of those guys who, even when he was in a great mood, looked pissed at the world. But I immediately hit it off with Tony. Tony was one of those quiet guys who didn't really talk much, but when he did, everyone listened. He was really funny and a geek like me, so I could relate with him. Also, he was the only other guy on the tour bus who looked normal. He and no tattoos, not many piercings, just short sandy brown hair and a couple scars on his face. Tony, it turns out, was Lydia's boyfriend; I realized this the first time I met him.  
"Did Pixie come with you?" I guessed he meant Lydia so I pointed him to the back of the bus where she was cramming her brother's suitcase in the back of the van. He snuck up behind her, wrapped his arms around her and they proceeded to engage in a pretty fucking serious make-out session, so I walked to the front of the bus, only a little pissed off.  
"Hey man, we're leaving." Kevin said as he pushed me into the bus that was filled with the other band members ( minus Tony, who was too busy swapping saliva with "Pixie" to even notice), and about four or five other people that I didn't know. Finally, everyone boarded and we drove along, everyone basically keeping to himself until a new song started to play on the radio. The entire bus started screaming; I mean, the high pitched teenage girl scream that I didn't think guys who had hit puberty could actually do. I had absolutely no clue as to what the hell was going on until Zack looked in my direction, our joy expressed in every inch of his face, and said, "This is our song!" Every person in that bus stopped talking as the song continued to play. We just sat and listened to the amazing song in silence and, for the first time in my life, I felt as if I was a part of something great.  
  
I'm living on shattered faith  
  
the kind that likes to restrict your breath  
  
there's never been a better time than this to  
  
suffocate on eternal bliss  
  
In a city that swells with so much hate  
  
I see you rise above to take its place  
  
The heart pumps until it dies  
  
Drain the blood, the heart is wise  
  
AN: I'm looking for a beta for my CSI stories, if anyone out there would like to help me out, then please email me! The song in this chapter and the rest on this story is Drain the Blood by the Distillers. There will be another chapter to this and then a third section where Greg meets Grissom for the first time and leaves his rock days behind and then there will be a fourth section that will be set at about the same time as the series now. Let me know what you think about this when you REVIEW!!!(please?) 


	2. burnt out flame

A big thanks to my Beta Rainbowsnstars  
  
Did you know that an amp is fucking heavy as shit? Yeah, me neither. But guess what? They are. I also noticed that I was not exactly strong enough to lift the amp, so I spent about thirty fucking minutes trying to push it across the stage. It was about two hours before the band's first show outside of Harrisburg and everyone was a little on edge. I mean hell, I was so engrossed by what I was doing that I didn't even hear Tony's footsteps behind me.  
  
"Need a little help?" Thinking I was alone, I jumped when I heard his voice.  
  
"Shit man, don't do that!" He laughed as he stood beside me and began to help push. Once the amp was in place and we were sitting on the edge of the stage, he looked at the sweat covered, panting me.  
  
"You know, after about a month, that will be a lot easier for you."  
  
"Yeah, that's what Lydia said."  
  
Tony smirked as he replied. "Great minds think alike."  
  
"So are you nervous?" I changed the subject.  
  
"About the show? Fuck yeah, man. All of us are. Zack's backstage puking his guts out." When he saw the expression of alarm on my face, he continued. "But he does that before every show." For a while, neither of us said a word, each of us trying to calm our nerves.  
  
"But you guys will play great."  
  
Tony grinned. "I know. Didn't you hear our song on the radio earlier? We fucking rock." He stood up. "I'm going to go see what the rest of the guys are doing, see you in an hour." Tony pointed back at me as he was walking away. " And don't drop my fucking bass!"  
  
So I continued to set up the stage, fiddling with knobs and testing the drum set until it was time for me to walk off stage. About ten minutes later, people started filling into the stadium. The headlining band, Pearl Jam, was a pretty well known band (talk about an understatement) and the Chicago venue had sold out. The concert was set up outside in the huge lot. A stage had been built there the week before.  
  
Hundreds of people began to fill the lot; I could see them from where I was standing by the side of the stage. I looked behind me and my eyes fell on Zack, who was sitting on an extra amp, biting his fingernails and twirling his long, curly brown hair. He looked like he had been sick and I didn't see how he was going to pull this off. He must have felt me studying him because he looked up in my direction. Apparently my face showed the worry that I was trying to hide because he sent me a confident smile. He looked as if he was going to say something to me, but before he could, the rest of the band members walked back to where we were standing.  
  
Price grabbed Zack's shoulder. "We're on." When I handed him his guitar, he still looked like he was going to puke, but he ran out on stage. The second he was out in front of the crowd, the sickness vanished from his face; he looked like he belonged out in front of a crowd. Kevin, Tony, and Price were waiting for him onstage. When Zack reached his microphone, he began his "opening monologue," as he liked to call it.  
  
"How the hell are you guys? Are you excited to see Pearl Jam?" The crown screamed in response. "Well, you have to wait a few hours before you can see them, so go ahead and get good and drunk because we plan on giving them one hell of an opener!" Price began to hit the symbols in a rhythmic pattern, the opening to the band's first song. I let out a sigh of relief when I saw the crowd during the first song; they were going crazy. A huge mosh pit began to form in the middle of the crowd.  
  
The nerves that Zack had shown before the show were completely gone now; throughout the entire set, he was relentlessly attacking the songs, screaming out the lyrics without ever getting off beat. Before the last song, he ran offstage and threw me his guitar. The last song the band played was the one that I had heard on the radio earlier that day. The band's performance of that song was fucking awesome. To end the show, during the last repetition of the chorus, Zack jumped into the crowd, a stage dive to end all stage dives, and the crowd loved them, cheering for an encore. Too bad the band had played every song that it had.  
  
The band left the stage heading straight for the tour bus. I had to stay behind and pack up the equipment. By the time I made it back to the bus, Kevin had gone somewhere with the band's first groupie. Zack and Price were sitting at the table, while Tony was lying stretched out on a seat, strumming Kevin's guitar. I walked up to the table. Zack was leaning over a lit candle, holding a spoon over the flame. Price was watching the shit that was in the spoon, until he grabbed a syringe that was sitting beside him on the table and stuck it in the spoon, filling it up with a strange liquid. It was at this moment I decided to make my presence known.  
  
"You guys were awesome out there."  
  
All three of them looked up at me. Zack grinned. "Greg! Want to join us in a little victory celebration?" He gestured toward the syringe. Price was staring at me as if this was a test and I realized that I had to do it, to finally be accepted by him and the rest of the band. I gave a quick nod and walked over to Zack. He handed me a huge blue rubber band with white writing that read Houston Medical Supplies. I looked up at him.  
  
"My dad was a doctor there." He laughed at the irony.  
  
Knowing what to do only from the movies, I placed the band on my upper arm as Price stood up and walked over to me.  
  
"You don't have to do this if you don't really want to." Tony stopped playing the guitar and spoke for the first time. I ignored him as Price approached me. I closed my eyes, still not believing what I was doing. My mind was telling me to jerk away as I felt the needle pierce the skin, but I couldn't move. And then, in a split second, it was over. Relief washed over me as Price stalked back over to the table; he was pissed that I had actually gone through with it and that he didn't have anything to rag on me about. I told myself that I was never going to do herion again, but as soon as I felt the high, I knew stopping wouldn't be as easy as I thought.  
  
I honestly don't know why I fell into the pressure or why I continued using after that. We traveled from city to city, each time the amount of people singing Unleaded's song increased. And overnight, it seemed, we became a hit. Radios continued to play the song and more people started coming to our shows. Eventually, we even started headlining our on tour. And it only took a little over a year.  
  
On January eighth, we began our own headlining tour with the first date in Las Vegas. On the seventh, at around noon, we arrived in Vegas. Lydia was flying there to see the band live; it was the first time any of us had seen her since the tour began. Tony was about to shit himself he wanted to see Lydia so badly. You could imagine his excitement when he saw her standing on the sidewalk in front of the hotel waiting for the bus. As soon as we parked, he jumped out and ran to her, greeting her in about the same way he said goodbye to her. The rest of us filed out, one by one, and I, knowing my job, walked to the back of the bus and pulled out everyone's suitcases, placing them in piles on the curb. I had been paid earlier and for the first time in my life I owned a shitload of money.  
  
"You dick." I spun around from the back of the bus to face whoever I had pissed off at this moment. My eyes met the dancing ones of Lydia, who immediately grabbed me in a hug, but still yelled at me even though my jacket muffled her rants. "After all I have done for you, you don't even have the courtesy to greet me? Bastard . . . " It continued but at this point I couldn't exactly hear what she was saying. After what seemed like hours, she finally let go of me.  
  
"So you've gone back to green?" I gestured toward her hair. She smiled and reached up to touch a lock.  
  
"You know, if it weren't for a process of elimination, I wouldn't have even recognized you."  
  
"Really?" I didn't think I looked that different. I mean, my hair was longer and I had pierced my chin but other than that, I thought I looked exactly the same.  
  
"Yeah. You got taller. A whole hell of a lot taller."  
  
"Six inches." The first time I met her we had been about eye level but now I had to look down to see her. That was a boost of self-confidence.  
  
"Greg, " she began in a quieter voice. " How old are you?"  
  
"Why the fuck do you always ask me that?" "Because you never tell me the truth."  
  
I looked around; everyone else had gone inside. What harm could telling her do? "I'm seventeen." She looked as if she had just been slapped.  
  
"That means you were sixteen when I sent you out on the road? Fuck, Greg! Tony has been telling me about all of the shit you've been getting into and you're only seventeen? What happened to all of that shit you were telling me about graduating at the top of your class and getting into a good college? I take it that was all bullshit?" I seriously thought she was going to hit me, but I knew yelling back at her was about the dumbest thing I could do.  
  
"No, " I began in almost a whisper, "I graduated early."  
  
"Well that's great; now I know not every single word that has left your mouth is a fucking lie!" Sarcasm dripped from her screams. She took a deep breath before continuing. "Leave."  
  
"What?" Whatever reaction I had been expecting, it certainly wasn't this.  
  
She had stopped screaming and was speaking in a voice completely rid of emotion. "Leave right now or I'll tell them all the truth." And what other choice did I have? So I hailed a cab and carried my bags into the taxi. Before I got in though, I turned to say one last thing to her.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
She stared at me blankly. "For what?"  
  
I chose my next words carefully. "For saving my life. If I hadn't met you, I don't know where I would be right now."  
  
I sat in the cab and closed the door behind me only to have it pried back open.  
  
"Get out of the fucking car." Lydia moved aside to let me out. " I'm still pissed at you, you know."  
  
"Believe me, I know." I muttered under my breath as she led me back down the street.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing." She glared at me the entire way back up to the hotel. Tony and Zack met us in the lobby.  
  
"I heard you guys yelling. Well, I heard Lydia yelling. What happened?" Tony asked.  
  
"Nothing, just a small misunderstanding." She gave me a death stare and continued. "Tony, I think I'm going to share a room with Greg tonight, ok?" Tony looked as if he wanted to kill me. Not because he thought Lydia was cheating on him with me, but because it was the first time he had seen his girlfriend in over a year and he had been faithful to her that whole time. Get my drift?  
  
"All right, that's fine but why don't you come up with me to my room for a while?" I had to grin as I watched her self-control shatter as she agreed and the two practically ran to the elevator.  
  
"I need Vodka. Or at least a cigarette," I whined to Zack. Lydia had given me a headache. He laughed.  
  
"I can help you on the cigarette, but you're on your own for the vodka." You know, when I first met Unleaded, I immediately thought that Tony would be the only guy I would get along with, but I had actually become better friends with Zack. We had a lot in common, even if he didn't know all of it. His childhood was basically a mirror image of my own - the abuse, the running away... but I think his dad did a little more than just hit him.  
  
Zack and I hung around downstairs until about five in the afternoon, which was when the entire band and all of its road crew, which had grown considerably in number, met in a private room for a meeting about some completely unimportant shit that I can't even remember. But after the meeting was over and everyone was still just sitting around, all of our lives changed forever.  
  
I don't even remember whose suggestion it was; it could have been Price's or maybe Kevin's, but someone wanted ice cream. We all hauled into a rental van. Price was driving. Laughing and singing off key to the radio, everyone was pretty much at ease, when out of nowhere, a car comes at us - head-on.  
  
"Fuck!" Price screamed.  
  
I never met a pearl quite like you  
  
Who could shimmer and rot at the same time through  
  
There's never been a better time than this  
  
Bite the hand of the frostbitten eminence  
  
I'm alive in uterine  
  
A stab in the dark  
  
A new day has dawned  
  
open up and let it flow  
  
I'll make it yours  
  
So here we go  
  
All my friends are murder  
  
And all my bones are marrows in  
  
All these thieves want teenage meat  
  
All my friends are murderers  
  
Away . . . Away . . .  
  
He's gone away . . . He's gone away . . .  
  
You know, there are certain people in your life who, once you meet them, you know your life will never be the same. You can't go back to the way you were before you met these characters, because, good or bad, you can't change the effects they had you. These pivotal individuals are extremely rare, most people are lucky if they even meet one. My dad was one of those people. He made me hate everything about myself and try my hardest to be nothing like him. One look in his eyes and I was instantly sick to my stomach. He had those eyes, my eyes, and the fact that we shared a common trait made me want to leave New York and my family forever.  
  
Lydia was another pivotal person. I honestly believe that she saved me. She gave me a job and ,in a sort of dysfunctional way, a family. And what happened next in our lives destroyed that family, alienated us. If only I knew what I had before it was so unjustly taken away, maybe I would have had the time to appreciate it more, to tell each and every one of them how much they meant to me. But what happened did happen and there was nothing I could do to change the past.  
  
Little did I know that I was about to meet my third pivotal person - a man by the name of Gil Grissom. You know, looking back on it now, there are still things that, given any chance, I would want to change, but I honestly don't regret a thing.  
  
AN: the third chapter in the stay home series 'Opiate Summer', which features Greg's first meeting with Grissom and will tell what happened to the band members, will be up soon. Well, I haven't even started writing it yet, so don't expect it too soon.  
Also, I want to thank all of the people who offered to beta my stories; I was shocked at some of the people who actually offered. Rainbowsnstars offered first though. I really hope I didn't piss anyone off though, but I've never had more than one person offer to beta before.  
Anyway, please review. 


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